


needful things

by peacefrog



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-14 17:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: “What were you dreaming about?” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the semi-dark. “The sea again?”“Something like that.”





	1. Chapter 1

Will dreams of Hannibal’s house by the sea, the cliff face dripping into dark. The Dragon is not on his way. No. This time they are alone.

Hannibal emerges from his room dressed in red, a floor length robe spilling from his shoulders like sheets of blood. He is lit from within, fire raging in his eyes. He uncorks wine the color of his robe and licks his lips.

“Will you join me at the table?”

Bedelia’s leg is spread out on the table by the windows, though she is nowhere to be found. Outside, a storm is coming, swelling the sea until it licks up over the edge of the cliff. The ocean pours in through the floor, soaking their shoes as they take their seats.

Will and Hannibal sit across from one another. At the far end of the table, Abigail sits, her neck spurting blood onto her empty plate. She is smiling, but when she opens her mouth to speak her words take the form of screams.

Hannibal slices into Bedelia’s steaming leg. He reaches across the table, fork in hand, and presses a bite to Will’s lips. Will chews and savors. Abigail is still smiling. Still screaming. The water is up to their ankles now, then suddenly at their knees. Hannibal continues feeding Will with fire in his eyes as the table begins to float.

Then, the house falls away, taking Abigail with it, and the ocean is their home. They grow fins and tails, circling each other as prey, mouthing one another with row after row of sharp teeth. They are making love or they are drowning. As the dream fades away, Will can no longer tell the difference.

—

Will wakes on the sofa, half a glass of after-dinner wine glinting firelight on the table beside him. He watches the flames paint the red wine redder, an ocean of blood awaiting his lips.

He’s covered up to his hips with a blanket and, softly, he hears Hannibal breathing in the armchair beside him. Will makes to move and then stills, realizing he is painfully aroused, his erection tenting the blanket in the most obscene fashion.

“What were you dreaming about?” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the semi-dark. “The sea again?”

“Something like that.”

Hannibal appears at his side before Will even realizes he’s moved. His hand skims from Will’s calf up to his knee, fingers curling low on his thigh. His eyes are hungry flames as in Will’s dream.

“Just the sea?” Hannibal smiles, half teeth, half inviting comfort.

“You were there.”

“Was I now?”

Hannibal’s hand moves higher. Will closes his eyes. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this again, would no longer allow it, but his cock has grown so painfully hard that the room has begun to spin when his eyes open.

“May I?” Hannibal asks, his hand resting in the junction of Will’s hip and thigh.

“Just do it,” Will spits out, and before he can draw another breath Hannibal is pulling back the blanket.

This is how it always goes. Will aching, Hannibal taking him into his mouth and pulling him to completion in the dark. His tongue is serpentine, spewing love and venom, pinning Will down with pleasure and agony.

Hannibal tugs Will’s pants down mid-thigh and dives right in, wrapping his deft lips around Will’s cock head. Will thrusts and moans, threading fingers in Hannibal’s hair, and Hannibal wastes no time swallowing him down. He takes Will in like air, like water. As the ocean had swallowed them both. 

Hannibal sucks and slithers and moans, and, absently, Will wonders if Hannibal would like Will to fuck him, though he’s too afraid to ask. Too terrified where that end might take them. He fucks Hannibal’s mouth instead, losing himself in the way Hannibal sputters and chokes. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Will shouts, toeing the edge so close pulling back feels impossible. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair until he allows Will’s cock to fall free. “Let me come on your face.”

Hannibal closes his eyes, reverent, parting his lips, spit glistening on his chin, as Will strokes himself to completion. Will’s release spatters from Hannibal’s lips up to his eyes, sticking in his lashes. When Will has milked out the final drop, Hannibal’s tongue darts out to taste.

Will lies there, panting and boneless, as Hannibal pulls out a handkerchief to clean the mess his tongue won’t reach. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, then,” Hannibal says.

Will nods, breathless, and watches Hannibal walk from the room. It’s so impersonal, Will thinks. So cold. But then, this is how he wants it. Hannibal tried to kiss him, once, after their first encounter, and after Will pulled away in mock-disgust, Hannibal hasn’t tried to kiss or touch him since. Only this—sloppy blow jobs in the dead of night. Sandwiched in between nightmares and dreams.

—

Will dreams of Hannibal’s office in Baltimore, its windows stretched for miles toward the ceiling. They drink blood from cups curved like the mouth of the sea. It is high tide, and each sip only serves to spill the contents down into their laps, their hands and mouths dripping with the feast.

Hannibal is the antlered beast, a long, dark shadow caging Will in this his arms, hands like talons. He pushes Will down on the desk, and beneath them it becomes a boat, and they are surrounded on all sides by water. The sea churns, and Will allows the beast to love him, dip his talons into the wound on his belly opening like a flower to the sun. 

And then, Hannibal is inside him, the sharp tines of his antlers the last parts of him to disappear in the suit of Will’s flesh. Will is adrift in the endless ocean, his monster locked gently in his bones.

—

Will wakes in the morning on the sofa, his pants still rucked around his thighs. He goes straight to the shower and lets the hot spray work the ache of sleep from his bones, then wraps himself in his bathrobe and makes a beeline for the coffeemaker.

Hannibal is there in the kitchen, eying Will in silence as he pads from cupboard to counter, finally taking a seat at the center island with his steaming mug in hand.

“Did you sleep well?”

“My shoulder aches.” Will frowns into his mug.

“I would recommend no more nights spent on the couch.”

“You could have said something last night.”

Hannibal sips his own coffee. “You’re capable of making your own decisions on where you sleep.”

Will scowls, setting his mug down with enough force to slosh coffee up over the sides. The black liquid pools around the bottom of the mug. “What you did last night… I don’t want you to do that anymore.”

Hannibal smirks. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

“I don’t want you to suck my cock anymore. Better?”

“Alright.” Hannibal stands and walks to the fridge. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“I’ll just have toast.”

Will eats his toast in silence and goes to his room, leaving his dirty plate and mug unwashed in the sink. He dresses and pulls the fly tying gear he’s been hoarding for months from the closet and sits down at his desk, pulling out hooks and feathers. 

But as he begins attaching feathers to hook, the hackles blur to dark hair and jagged bone in his vision. He tosses them down on the desk and shuts his eyes, willing the past away. What does his forgiveness matter, he wonders, if he will never be able to forget?

Will abandons the flies and goes out into the yard, spending the remainder of the day doing his best to avoid Hannibal.

—

Night comes, and after an awkward and mostly silent dinner, Will retires to his own bed, locking the door behind him. He strips and lies face down in the middle of his bed, rutting against the sheets as arousal courses through him in waves. 

He comes tonguing at the seam of the scar in his cheek, the memory of blood in his mouth. He comes recalling the God-like power he knew with Hannibal taking down the Dragon. The last time they dined on the flesh of another.

Will falls into sleep covered in his own mess, and when the nightmares come they are formless, the air inside thick with screams.

—

“This isn’t going to work,” Will says the following morning.

Hannibal just stares, waiting for Will to continue.

“I’m angry with you. Or myself. Or…” He places his head in his hands, sighing, searching for words that may not exist. “I think we need therapy.”

“Couple’s counseling?”

“We’re not a—Yes. Something like that.”

“We’re in no position to seek out such treatment.”

“I know. But maybe we don’t need to. Maybe we can just… talk. Like we used to. If we don’t I’m just going to walk around hating you and hating myself for the rest of our lives.”

Hannibal considers this, studying Will’s face. “I’ll agree on one condition: You’ll answer all of my questions with honesty, and I will return the favor. No question is to be off limits.”

“Okay.”

Hannibal smiles. “Okay.”

—

They sit on the grass out back in the afternoon, the sun breaking through a blanket of clouds and spilling down through branches to paint patterns on their skin.

“Where would you like to begin?” Hannibal asks.

Will sighs. “Do you still think about killing me?”

“No.”

“But you think about eating me.”

Hannibal flattens his palms against the grass. “I wonder how you would taste. Though now, I believe you’ve already given me that satisfaction.”

“Why do you—”

Hannibal raises one hand and quiets Will in an instant. “If this is to be fair, I believe it’s now my turn to ask a question.”

Will nods.

“Do you still think about killing me?”

“I wonder if it would be better had I succeeded in killing us both.”

Hannibal takes this in, folding his hands in his lap. Waiting patiently for Will’s next question.

“Why do you enjoy… using your mouth on me?”

Hannibal smirks. “Does that really require explanation?”

“Considering your penchant for manipulation, yes.”

“I admit the idea of controlling you has its appeal. But that control is a river that flows both ways. I enjoy pleasing you for pleasure’s sake.” Hannibal thinks, perfectly still. “Do you enjoy it when I provide you with such pleasure?”

“It feels good. Blow jobs usually do. Are you sexually attracted to me, or is pleasure for pleasure’s sake another power play in disguise? You’ve never asked me to reciprocate.”

“You’ve never offered, and I wouldn’t dream of pressuring you. On several occasions, I’ve experienced my own release while taking you in my mouth. On others, I bring myself off in the night, the taste of you fresh on my tongue.”

In the distance, crows call. One after the next relaying messages of prey or danger. Will watches Hannibal across the grass, elegant in his slacks and sweater. Sunlight glints in his hair, and Will can think nothing in that moment but that he is beautiful.

“Why have you chosen to stay here with me for so many months, holding onto this anger?”

“Just because I can’t bear the thought of living without you doesn’t mean I have to like it. Would you kill me if I tried to leave you?”

The fire has returned to Hannibal’s eyes now, glinting yellow with sun. “No. Would you ever try to leave me?”

“No.”

The two of them sit and watch each other, a gentle breeze fluttering leaves on branches. The air is warm with impending summer. 

“Would you let me fuck you if I asked to?” Will asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Do you want to?”

“There’s no easy answer to that.”

Hannibal gives Will a look then, one that takes him right back to Baltimore. One that seeks to cleave his indecision in two.”I thought we’d moved past such trivialities. Tell me, do you remain as indecisive when it comes to taking a life?”

“It’s not your turn,” Will says. “Do you want me to take a life with you?”

“I allowed Bedelia to live at your behest.”

Will glares at Hannibal, half smiling. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Il Mostro and The Chesapeake Ripper would pale in comparison to what we could become together.”

Will lies down in the grass, turning his face toward Hannibal. “Maybe. Ask me another question.”

“Why do you not want me to suck your cock anymore?”

“You’re not the only one with a penchant for manipulation. Maybe it’s all I have left to deny you.”

Hannibal lies next to Will in the grass. They gaze up at the cloud-strewn sky, between skeletal branches dripping with leaves. “By denying me, you also deny yourself. If you’re choosing to stay here with me, do you truly see any point?”

“It’s my turn.” Will laughs. “I don’t know if there’s any point. I can’t stop thinking about all the horrible shit you put me through. Or dreaming about it at least.”

“Have you rescinded your forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness is paid in full. No refunds, no exchanges.”

Hannibal is watching Will when Will turns to watch him. “Then we have no choice but to find some middle ground.”

Hannibal reaches over, seeking Will’s hand. Will’s fingers twitch atop the grass, and for a split second he wants to force his hand away. Instead, he closes his eyes, and links his fingers with Hannibal’s. They lie there breathing and still. Watching the branches and the sky.

—

After dinner, Will crowds Hannibal against the table. “I want you to use your hand on me. Look me in the eye during.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Hannibal reaches down blind and undoes Will’s fly, their mutual gaze unbroken. Will shoves his pants and underwear down to his knees as Hannibal spits once, twice, three times in the palm of his hand. It’s unnecessary though. Will is leaking and achingly hard the moment Hannibal takes him in hand.

“Don’t look away,” Will moans. “Make me see you.”

“Allow yourself to see the both of us. Together. My eyes a reflection of your own.”

Will grips the edge of the table, pressed so close to Hannibal he can all but taste the wine on his lips. He fucks into Hannibal’s deft grip, willing his eyes to stay open. “I see myself,” Will sputters. “It’s terrifying.”

“Is it terrifying that I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Will’s eyes snap shut. Hannibal grips his chin with his free hand until they open. “Because I love you, too. Would be easier if we didn’t.”

“But we do. I would not wish our love away.”

Will comes with blinding pleasure, spilling across the front of Hannibal’s shirt, collapsing against Hannibal’s chest as he milks the last drop from Will’s cock. Their hearts race in tandem, like twin hoofbeats on the pavement.

Hannibal is hard through his pants, pressing against Will’s bare hip. Will fumbles with Hannibal’s pants, getting his cock free as their chests heave together. It only takes three firm strokes before Hannibal is spilling over the edge, his come coating Will’s fingers.

Will collapses in the nearest chair, smiling, eyes unwilling to leave Hannibal’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started out writing this intending it to be a one shot, but these two just wouldn't stop talking. And feeling. And touching each other's cocks. So I have two more chapters planned out now that will, muse willing, be coming shortly. There's a few tags up top that have yet to be earned, but those will be happening, I promise. :P
> 
> In the meantime, come say hi on [tumblr!](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess. I’m getting used to the idea of being here. With you. Maybe forever.” Will sighs and looks out into the yard. Green seems to stretch for miles. To the end of the world. “Are you happy here?”
> 
> “I can’t recall a time when I was happier. Perhaps as a child. With my parents. With Mischa. Though a child’s happiness pales in comparison to what you have given me.”

Will dreams of his thighs spread wide across a broad and feathered back. They soar above Wolf Trap, Baltimore, Quantico, the world beneath them turned to blood. He wraps his hands around bony black antlers, and he is not afraid.

—

Will watches Hannibal across the table at breakfast, uncertain where the day should take them. Uncertain where he should allow them to be. 

“We should have another session today,” Will says.

Hannibal smirks. “Therapy, or one of its after-dinner substitutes?”

Will’s flushes hot. Following the previous evening’s encounter, they hadn’t talked much. The euphoric haze had worn away, and they retired to separate wings of the house for the remainder of the night. Now, Will recalls the weight of Hannibal in his hand, and fights the urge to hide his face.

“We should talk. Yesterday wasn’t enough.”

“There’s no need to wait,” Hannibal says, forking the last of his eggs into his mouth. “No better time than the present.”

They clear their dishes, and out on the patio Will arranges two chairs across from one another. Hannibal watches him, smiling, and joins him once Will has taken his seat.

“Recreating structures of the past?”

Will laughs. “It’s more practical this way.”

“Where would you like to begin?”

Will sighs. “I’m not sure how I feel about you.”

“So quick to doubt confessions of love made in the heat of the moment?”

“I’m not talking about love. That’s out of my hands. Always has been. But I can’t just forget our past because I love you. Or because we gave each other hand jobs after dinner.”

Hannibal smiles, no doubt remembering their evening. “Does our past require forgetting? Would it help if I apologized?”

Will laughs, a half-bitter sound. “You’re not sorry about anything, Hannibal. Everything in our past only served to deliver us here.”

“And you’re happy here?”

Until this moment, Will hadn’t factored happiness into the equation. He’d accepted the inevitability of their love, but that he should be—could be—happy with the whole of his life? It’s enough to make Will laugh out loud. 

“I guess. I’m getting used to the idea of being here. With you. Maybe forever.” Will sighs and looks out into the yard. Green seems to stretch for miles. To the end of the world. “Are you happy here?”

“I can’t recall a time when I was happier. Perhaps as a child. With my parents. With Mischa. Though a child’s happiness pales in comparison to what you have given me.”

Will swallows around his own words, breathless. “What I’ve given you…”

“All of yourself. Even when you insist on denying me”

Will is reminded of Bedelia’s words then. Hannibal’s nourishment coming from the very sight of him. His presence alone. If this is to be taken as truth, then denying Hannibal the pleasures of Will’s flesh only serves to make Will suffer alone.

“What if I said I wasn’t going to kill anyone with you ever again? That I would keep you from killing at all costs.”

“Whatever road you choose to take us down, I will follow.”

Will scoffs. “You honestly think you can quit? Just like that?”

“I quit for three years waiting for you to return to me.” Hannibal smiles. “Just like that. I only wish for you to be honest with yourself.”

“I promised you honesty, and you have it. But it’s hard to give you an answer I don’t even have myself.”

“You have it. Somewhere deep in the wells of your mind. I’d be happy to help you find it. I am your therapist after all.”

“Or am I yours?”

“I see no difference, given the circumstance.”

Will stands, watching the sun spread her rays low across the trees. “I’d like to propose some unorthodox therapy then. Given our history, I don’t suspect you’d object to that.”

Hannibal’s eyes shine hungry and dark. “As your therapist, you have my approval. As your patient, you have my consent.”

“Good,” Will says, stepping closer to Hannibal. “You have lubrication in your bedroom. I know you do. Go get it.”

Hannibal disappears into the house and returns with a small bottle in hand. His slacks are tented with the fullness of his erection.

“Eager, are we?”

Hannibal hands Will the bottle of lubrication. “I’m always eager for you.”

Will leads Hannibal to the chaise on the far end of the patio. “Take off your clothes,” he says, “and lie back.”

Hannibal removes his sweater, folding it meticulously. Will watches with rapt attention the way the scars move on his back. He shoves off his pants and underwear in one swift movement, folding them in the same manner as the sweater. He sets the neat pile aside and lies back on the chaise.

Hannibal slings an arm above his head and spreads his thighs, body lax in his repose. “May I kiss you?”

Will kneels between Hannibal’s spread legs. “You may not.”

“May I ask what wickedness you have planned for me then?”

Will watches the way Hannibal’s erection leaks against his belly. “I’m thinking about fucking you. But I haven’t decided yet.”

“Your decision has already been made. It lies in wait for your permission.”

Will swallows around the words he cannot speak. Tentatively, he runs his fingers up the length of Hannibal’s calf, over the curve of his knee, and along the flesh of his inner thigh. Though his face remains placid, Hannibal’s cock appears painfully hard.

“You’d have me give myself over entirely to instinct.”

“Yes.” Hannibal shudders, Will’s fingers resting in the space where thigh joins hip. 

“You’ve always thought of your victims as common pigs, yet you want me to behave as an animal.”

“Humans are animals. But not all animals are equal. The lion savages the gazelle and knows no guilt.”

“Is that what you want me to do, Hannibal? Savage you?”

Hannibal gasps when Will runs his fingers up the curve of his cock. A ghost of a touch, but enough to make him leak in earnest. “I want you to remember the way you felt that night. On the cliff, beneath the moon, finally claiming your power.”

“And I want you,” Will says, moving his fingers down behind Hannibal’s balls, caressing the sensitive flesh there, “to stop talking.”

Hannibal nods, slack jawed, and spreads his thighs wider, canting his hips. Will slicks two fingers and presses them to Hannibal’s hole. He fucks Hannibal first with one finger, then two, deliberately avoiding his prostate, the stretch bordering on clinical.

“That’s enough, don’t you think?” Will bites back a growl, pulling his fingers free and fumbling to get his own pants down. 

His cock freed, Will slicks himself and presses his cock head to Hannibal’s entrance.

“Will,” Hannibal breathes, pressing his palm flat to Will’s chest, “there is no need to rush this. Allow me to savor you.”

“There will be plenty of time to take it slow later.”

Will lines himself up and pushes in. Hannibal ceases breathing altogether, pushing all the air from his lungs when Will finally bottoms out. Will takes Hannibal’s cock in hand and strokes as he begins to fuck.

“Tell me,” Will moans, “how you would want me to do it. Killing with you.”

“I want you,” Hannibal keens, arching his back, “to kill exactly as you please.”

“No. Don’t give me that shit. You’ve thought about this too often. How do you picture it in your mind?”

Hannibal begins to fall apart, eyes locked on Will’s in a way that sends Will’s head spinning. He releases Hannibal’s cock and falls down against his chest, burying his face in the hollow of Hannibal’s throat as their bodies rock together.

“I picture you as you were that night. Radiant.” Hannibal wraps Will in the cage of his arms and legs, fingers digging into flesh. “You use your hands, with little care for the mess you’ve made. Blood sticks and drips everywhere.”

Will sinks his teeth into Hannibal’s throat, and Hannibal comes with a shout, his cock trapped between their bodies. His body clenches tight around Will, and just like that Will is following him to the brink, and they are falling.

The world spins. Their cries mingle with bird songs and the gentle rustling wind. They come down clinging together, trembling, chests heaving in tandem. Hannibal presses kisses into Will’s hair and holds him close.

Will sees it then, the whole of their lives stretched out before him. The past should never be forgotten, he knows, but the act of remembering cannot negate their truth. The horror does not erase the relief of giving in. The pain cannot compare to understanding above and beyond pure empathy.

“I want it,” Will says, though it’s barely more than a whisper. “I want to feel that way again. With you.”

—

They clean up their mess and Hannibal leaves Will lounging on the chaise, dozing in and out of lazy morning sleep. He dreams of breath coming into him, soft lips melding with his own. Blood flows like streams into the ocean, and Will knows nothing but calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely words, both here and on tumblr! If the muse is kind, chapter three will be up by the weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want me to bring him to you?” Hannibal asks.
> 
> “No,” Will says. “That’s not how I want this to happen.”

“You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” Will watches Hannibal from one end of the sofa.

“Someone in the area has been killing children.”

“And you know exactly who that is.”

Hannibal smiles, saying nothing. He rounds the sofa, and stands behind Will, running fingers through his hair. Will closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“How can everything be so easy for you? I say I want to kill again, and already you have the perfect target.”

“I’ve had my eye on the story since we arrived. Putting the pieces together was simple.”

Will laughs, incredulous. “Of course.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Prove to me that he deserves it,” Will says, sighing as Hannibal’s hand curls loosely around his throat.

Hannibal presses his fingers to Will’s pulse, the blood below pumping strong and steady. Will moans.

—

The evidence, though mostly circumstantial, is overwhelming. A half dozen children have been murdered in less than six months, all within a ten mile radius. Within that same area, there are four registered sex offenders who have preyed on children, and only one with clear ties to the families of every murdered child.

“You connected all of this through Facebook?” Will smiles over at Hannibal.

“Mostly. It serves its purpose,” Hannibal says, showing his teeth when he returns Will’s smile. “And serves it well.”

“Is he a suspect? Certainly the police have put together these very same pieces.”

“If they have, they have nothing more concrete than we do. Nothing that would justify arrest.”

“Why would any of these families allow this man near their children? He’s registered, what he’s done has to be known by the community.”

“He hides himself well in plain sight. His conviction was a long time ago. He’s managed to convince them he’s a changed man.”

“People don’t change,” Will says. “We are what we are.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says, watching Will with hungry eyes. “We are.”

—

“Do you want me to bring him to you?” Hannibal asks.

“No,” Will says. “That’s not how I want this to happen.”

Hannibal gazes at Will from across the table, smiling and soft. Wearing an expression that says he will give Will anything.

—

Will follows Hannibal to his bedroom. “I want to taste you,” he says.

Hannibal takes off all his clothes and sits on the edge of the bed. Will settles between Hannibal’s knees and runs a tentative touch up his thighs. His thumbs dig into Hannibal’s hips with the force of his grip. Hannibal keens, his cock hard and red against his belly.

Will runs his hands up Hannibal’s abdomen, avoiding the space where his cock leaks in earnest. Up to his chest, his nipples, all along his collarbone. Will wraps two hands loosely around Hannibal’s neck before trailing down again, taking Hannibal in hand. He strokes Hannibal’s cock lazily, watching it leak, darting out his tongue to gather a taste.

Hannibal threads his fingers in Will’s hair as Will takes him in his mouth, tentatively at first, then moaning with the force of his own desire as he speeds up his pace. Hannibal’s thighs are trembling, his whole body alight with a need that courses through Will’s veins and sends his head spinning.

Will lets Hannibal slip into his throat, choking only to return for more. Will’s fingers dig into the flesh of Hannibal’s thighs, and above Hannibal is repeating his name. _Will, Will, Will._ A prayer in return for worship. A blessing and a hymn.

Hannibal comes, flooding Will’s mouth with his release. Will sucks him through it, reveling in the beautiful sounds Hannibal makes. Come dribbles down his chin, but Will laps at it hungrily, desperate to consume. Aching to feel Hannibal flowing inside him.

Will gets to his feet and strips, watching Hannibal splayed out on the bed and panting. He crawls in next to him and curls up at Hannibal’s side, trailing kisses along his torso, and when he dreams, it is only of Hannibal’s mouth. The warmth of his lips consuming.

—

Their soon-to-be victim has a name, of course, and a two-story home near the water. To Will, these details are trivial at best. Background noise and static. Their importance even less than where he and Hannibal now reside. He never speaks the name of their city, never wishing to find it on a map. They may as well be existing in some other world together. He likes to believe that they are.

What matters is the moment and the feeling. The way he can close his eyes and know that Hannibal is beside him, and will be there when his eyes click open again. Their past all tucked into neat little rooms and corners. Their memory palace ever-tangling, ever-growing. 

His anger for Hannibal has slipped away, because he’s finally allowed it to. Now, the two of them walk side-by-side on the darkened street where the life they are soon to take resides. Street lights flicker and shine. The whole world carries an air of desertion.

Will eyes their clothes—all black, of course—and laughs. “I feel ridiculous in these get-ups. Did the Ripper dress like this?”

“I had other means at the time,” Hannibal says. “I’ll show you, for next time perhaps.”

Next time. Will knows in this moment that there will be a next time. And a time after that…

“Wait,” Will says, laughing. “I remember. Those plastic suits. They found them in your basement. I’m not wearing one of those.”

Hannibal can only smile.

Picking a lock is easy, lying in wait even easier still. The man they’ve come for is not yet home, but it won’t be long, so they loom in the dark like shadows or ghosts. Will thinks, briefly, of leaning in and pressing his lips to Hannibal’s, but before he can act the front door is creaking open.

A lamp clicks on, and Will and Hannibal come into the light. “Don’t run,” Will says. “I’ll catch you.”

The man—the monster, their prey—freezes in his tracks. A deer caught in the headlights of their eyes. Unarmed save for the keys dangling in his grasp, he turns and makes for the door. Will pounces and slams him against it before he can reach the knob.

“What did I just say?”

The man bares his teeth, feral, and lets slip something akin to a howl. His attempt to lurch away is met by a hand around his throat-—Hannibal’s. Will looks over at him and releases his grip on the man’s shoulders.

“Where would you like him?” Hannibal drawls, in the same tone he asks Will what he would like for dinner.

Before Will can answer, the man wrenches away in earnest, landing a single punch to the center of Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal steps back, winded, and Will’s vision turns to blood. He head-butts the man with the whole of his anger, sending him tumbling to the floor, and his mouth fills instantly with blood, stars blooming in his vision.

Hannibal eyes Will, panting, and thumbs at font of his split lip. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not the first time. Help me get him into the chair.”

Hannibal’s eyes stay locked on Will’s mouth, his blood. “I will,” he says, absently, licking his lips. 

Will smiles, feral, blood dripping from his teeth. “Come here,” he breathes, gripping the front of Hannibal’s shirt and pulling him in for a blood-stained kiss. Hannibal grips Will’s face and seeks to devour, tongue licking over the seam of his lips and into the heat of his mouth.

Will pulls away, panting and half hard. “We should…”

“Yes,” Hannibal says, lips and chin streaked with Will’s blood. “Of course.”

They move the man’s limp body to the armchair, securing his middle with rope. “I want to take his heart,” Will says. “Show me how.”

The whole world turns to light and color then, shaping itself around blood and screams. Blades slip into flesh. Fingers curl around a stumbling pulse. Bones crack. Blood flows. Will and Hannibal’s hands work with terrifying precision. They eye each other through the beautiful horror with tenderness.

“We’ll have to leave this place,” Will says, “if we display the body.”

Bloodied up to his elbows, Hannibal searches Will’s face. “You want to stay.”

“It doesn’t matter where we are. They’re just places. Just names. I have you. I have all I need.”

They kiss again, blood on their hands and lips, a warm heart cradled in Hannibal’s hands. 

—

In the end, the don’t display the body. Their home, thus far, has served them well. They clean their mess and carry the corpse the short distance back to their car. Back home, they bury him deep in the earth of their own backyard. By the time they’re through, they’re filthy and more exhausted than either of them care to admit.

“You don’t have to cook for me tonight if you don’t want to,” Will says.

“It will be best to eat it fresh,” Hannibal says, and together they wash their hands and change their clothes and make dinner though it’s nearing 1am.

The feast they prepare together melts and bursts on their tongues. Will’s chest swells and his head swims. The past does not come flooding in to steal the present, leaving them only with the moment. With each other. Will kisses Hannibal across the table, smiling and sure.

—

Will dreams of Hannibal’s house by the sea, the cliff face dripping into dark. The Dragon is not on his way. No. This time they are alone.

Hannibal emerges from his room dressed in white, a floor length robe spilling from his shoulders like sheets of light and air. He is lit from within, a halo buzzing around his head, and in this dream Will laughs.

“Come with me,” Will says, and he leads Hannibal out into the night, waves crashing up over the cliff’s edge.

“Is this to be our fate?” Hannibal eyes the sea, its breadth threatening to swallow the world.

“You’re my fate,” Will says, reaching out a hand.

He touches Hannibal then, and the sea trembles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
